


Change

by the_original_n_chan



Series: Welcoming the Wolf [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Brief Violence, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, Mentions of Gore and Vomiting, Multi, OT3, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Post-Transformation Aftercare, Shapeshifting, Supernatural Elements, Warm and Fuzzy Ending - Literally, Werewolf Eliot Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_original_n_chan/pseuds/the_original_n_chan
Summary: Parker wasn't expecting to find a hockey-watching dog at Eliot's house. Hardison wasn't expecting Parker to introduce him to an honest-to-god wolf at Eliot's house. And Eliot wasn't expecting these two weirdos to be so chill about discovering his big secret.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Series: Welcoming the Wolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641973
Comments: 48
Kudos: 332
Collections: 2019 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cuzosu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuzosu/gifts).



> Hi, giftee! Happy Exchange! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. ^_^ Elements I used from your prompt were: OT3, aftercare, meaningful emotions, shapeshifter AU. (You asked for no death, but I assumed that meant no major character death. A few nameless henchmen do get killed offscreen; I hope that's tolerable.)
> 
> Many thanks to Karios for being a fantastic beta!

As far as Parker was concerned, most dogs fell into one of four categories (with occasional overlap):

  1. Tiny, noisy, annoying dogs that people liked to carry around with them for some reason. (She’d lifted one by accident once. What, she’d thought it was a purse!)
  2. Cute dogs that real children with real families got to throw sticks for and stuff.
  3. Weird-looking dogs whose only function seemed to be appearing in pictures on the Internet. (Hey, no judgment! She didn’t understand most modern art, either.)
  4. Guard dogs, to be avoided at all costs.



The dog standing in Eliot’s bedroom doorway, which had somehow snuck up on her while she was poking around inside his closet, was definitely the guard type.

And it was a Really Big Dog.

It stood nearly waist high on her, and it might weigh more than she did. Its fur was a mixture of various shades of dark brown, light brown, reddish brown, and cream; it had a broad, pointed face and upright ears. Its eyes were blue, and its gaze was very intense.

She stared at the dog, and the dog stared back. It wasn’t growling or barking or even showing any teeth, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t come at her at any moment. She calculated probable speeds and distances and decided that if she threw a blanket over its head, that should give her enough extra time to make it to the window and out.

“Hi, doggie,” she tried first, on the off chance that it might be friendly.

The dog whuffed at her, its ears slanting backward. Then it turned around and walked away.

She blinked after it. Was this a normal dog behavior? Was it going to come back? Was it going to bring its dog friends?

“Eliot?” she called. The lights had been on when she’d arrived, and some kind of sports was playing in the other room, so he should be home. But maybe he couldn’t hear her with the TV on, and she didn’t want to yell any louder with that dog lurking around somewhere. It could still decide she was an intruder.

Warily she slipped out of the room. No dog. Padding down the short hall to the living room, she peered around the corner. “Eliot?”

He wasn’t there, but the dog was—it was lying on the couch, leaning comfortably against a couple of throw pillows. When it saw her, its ears flattened again, but then it looked away and seemed to be ignoring her. That was totally fine with her.

Sidling around the back of the couch, she went to check the rest of the house. Kitchen, dining area, mud room, garage, guest room, bathrooms, basement gym/laundry, attic. She even went out onto the deck and looked into the unlit garden. No Eliot.

She grumped back into the living room. “Where’d he go?” she asked the dog. It angled a sidelong look at her. “His cars are all here. So’re his wallet and keys. He didn’t get kidnapped, did he?” The dog sighed heavily, dropping its head back against the pillows. “No, right, there’d be signs of a struggle.” Unless someone shot him with a tranquilizer dart or....no, maybe she was being too paranoid. There were perfectly normal, noncriminal reasons for a person to have gone out somewhere at night without a car, leaving the TV and lights on. Right? And anyway, if he’d been taken the dog should be more upset. Instead, it was calm. Very calm. _Too_ calm. She squinted at it suspiciously. “Did you eat him?”

The dog lifted its head and stared at her, its forehead wrinkling as if it was wondering what was wrong with her.

With an exasperated sigh, she flung herself down on the couch next to it. Now she’d have to wait until Eliot came back, just to make sure he was okay. This wasn’t how she’d planned things at all. Glancing around, she spotted the TV remote on the coffee table and leaned forward to grab it.

“ _Rrrrr_ ,” said the dog.

She froze and looked at it. Still no teeth, but it was giving her a meaningful glare. It actually kind of reminded her of Eliot—not the face, Eliot didn’t have a pointy nose like that, but something about the eyes. She’d heard someone say once that dogs and their owners tended to look alike. Maybe that was true. She hadn’t known that dogs and their owners liked watching the same sports, but apparently that was also a thing.

“ _Fine_ ,” she said. “Go ahead and watch your—” she checked the screen, “—your hockey.” The dog eyed her warily for a moment, as if it suspected that she might try to snatch the remote as soon as it glanced away, then resettled with a grunt.

Now what? She was already bored. With nothing more interesting to do, she studied the dog. It had really big paws, almost as big as her hands. And around the—ankle?—of one of its forelegs, there was a leather cuff a lot like the one that Eliot always wore. Curious, she reached out to turn it so she could get a better look.

She didn’t even see the dog move. One moment it was lying still; the next, its jaws were around her wrist. Her breath caught in her throat; her heart thudded like wings against glass, frantic with the need to escape, but she didn’t dare try to pull away. Its gaze held hers, perfectly steady...not _angry_ , she thought with a flicker of confusion, just firm and warning. _Don’t_.

It let her go. And as it released her, it gave her wrist a tiny lick.

She jerked her arm back, cradling it to her chest, When she looked down, there were only the slightest indentations from the dog’s teeth.

She let out a shaky breath. The dog regarded her with a serious expression.

“Sorry,” she whispered, and she meant it. In hindsight, that had been really dumb. The dog thumped its tail once, then lay down again.

As the burst of adrenaline faded, letting her mind work calmly again, she found her thoughts catching on that little lick. Just the barest touch, a fleeting dampness on her skin. Gentle, like the teeth that could so easily have broken bones or opened a vein. _We’re okay_ , that lick had said. _Just...don’t_. It gave her feelings that she wasn’t sure what to do with.

Her eyes roved over the dog, wondering. Its—his—fur was thick and soft looking but didn’t hide the powerful muscles of his legs, chest, and shoulders, even while he was lying there relaxed. Because he did seem more relaxed than before, not wary and defensive. It was like they’d come to an understanding. And that shouldn’t have made sense, but it did.

Hesitantly, she reached out, her hand hovering above him. “Can I pet you?” she asked. He tilted an ear at her, then sighed, and his tail thumped again. She gave his side a couple of tentative pats, then stroked his fur. It was coarser to the touch than it looked, but when she ran her fingers through it more firmly, they sank deep into a downy underlayer. He was warm and felt nice. When she settled down onto him, he wasn’t pillow-comfy—his hipbones were hard—but it wasn’t that much different from lying on Hardison. Just fluffy instead of smooth.

Thinking of Hardison, she got out her phone and called him. “ _Hey, babe,_ ” he said as he picked up. “ _’Sup?_ ”

“Do you know where Eliot is?” she asked.

“ _Mmm…looks like his phone’s at his place._ ”

“Yeah, but he isn’t.” She got some fuzz in her mouth; blowing and _pleffing_ didn’t get rid of it, so she had to wipe it away. She rolled over so her face wasn’t as close to the dog’s fur.

“ _Welp, I got no idea, then._ ” There was a pause that was probably computer related. “ _What’cha doin’ at Eliot’s?_ ”

“I wanted to try and make some progress on the plan.”

“ _Wait, wait, what—woman, we agreed, we was going to take our time with this, start out by dropping a few hints here and there_ —”

“I was going to steal some of his clothes so I could wear them.” It had seemed like a good idea, but now she felt a glimmer of uncertainty. “That’s a hint, right?”

“ _That, uh...I dunno. Maybe it’s a little too...suggestive?_ ”

“Then what? What exactly did you have in mind?” The dog had tensed underneath her—maybe she was too heavy, or maybe he could sense her sparking annoyance. She sat up off him and swiped her hair out of her face, her eyes burning with sudden stress. “Look, do you want to do this or not?”

“ _I mean, yeah, but_ —”

“Because you keep backing off! If you don’t want to, then _say_ so.” She hated it when people weren’t clear.

“ _I do! I...definitely have an interest._ ”

“Then you need to make the jump.” It wasn’t like a roof—she couldn’t just push him off. They had to fall together or not at all, and there wasn’t any rig to catch them, and _yes_ , it frightened her. Things were good between the three of them, so good, and not fragile at all—she and Hardison could lean into Eliot and know that he’d always be there for them, but still. Still.

What if it was too much? (What if they were too much, she was too much?) What if he got mad or disgusted by the idea? What if he left?

Feelings were scary. And change was _hard_.

But they wanted him, in all the ways that someone could be wanted. And if he wanted them too...then maybe things could be even better. That was worth the risk, wasn’t it?

“ _We should probably be having this conversation face to face_ ,” Hardison was saying. “ _And I’m_ not _just saying that to dodge the subject. It’s just, if this is a thing we’re doing, we should talk it through a little more, make sure we’re on the same page about exactly how all we’re gonna go about it. And it’s not something to do over the phone, you know what I mean?_ ”

They’d _had_ this conversation, or one an awful lot like it, but— “ _Fine._ You come here, though.”

“ _Uh, babe—_ ”

“I’m not leaving until Eliot comes home.” And if Eliot came home while they were both there, maybe something would actually _happen_ finally. “And I’m bored,” she added. “The dog won’t let me change the channel.”

“ _Dog? What dog?_ ”

“Oh, yeah! Eliot got a dog. He’s pretty cool.” She smiled at the dog, who was pretending very hard to be oblivious.

“ _Ah, okay. I’ll be there in a bit. Love you._ ”

“Love you too.” She hung up, dropped the phone off the side of the couch, then turned back toward the dog. “Hey, buddy! Do you want a belly rub? Dogs like that, right?

Putting a paw on her face, the dog gently but firmly pushed her away.

A twitch of movement underneath her woke her a couple of seconds before her phone buzzed. Checking to be sure it was Hardison calling, she rolled off the couch (and the dog) and bounced toward the door. When she yanked it open, he looked startled for a moment, then grinned, his eyes warm and happy to see her. She loved all his smiles, but that one in particular. “Hey, mama. Eliot back yet?”

“Uh-uh.” Unless he’d come back while she was sleeping? No, the dog would’ve gotten up to say hello. Probably. Anyhow—grabbing Hardison by the arm, she pulled him inside. “Come and meet the dog!”

As she and Hardison came around the end of the couch, the dog was already glowering at them, his ears pinned back. Hardison stopped short.

“Parker— _Parker_. That is _not_ a dog, that is a _wolf_.”

“Pshh, naw!” Wait.... “...really?” She studied the dog with new perspective, and he did actually look a lot like a wolf. “Huh,” she mused. “I’d’ve thought wolves were more scary.”

The wolf rumbled, his lip curling up to display some very large teeth. She considered this new development.

“Nope. Still not scary,” she decided. Snarling dogs were usually pretty alarming, but somehow this one wasn’t.

Hardison didn’t seem to feel the same way, because he retreated to the kitchen, drawing her with him. “Why does Eliot have a wolf in his house?” he whisper-shouted, as if the dog—no, wolf—wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“Why not?” she countered. “I mean, this is Eliot we’re talking about.” If anyone she knew was going to have a wolf friend, it would be him. Hardison opened his mouth as if he was going to argue the point, then stopped and thought it over.

A low _whuff_ came from the living room, and they both glanced that way. The wolf had sat up and was staring at the TV, where one of the skaters was zipping around with both arms in the air while the announcers yelled wildly. With a start, he looked over his shoulder at them, then quickly lay down, disappearing behind the couch back again. When she turned back to Hardison, his expression was making a slow transition from dumbfounded to a broad and gleeful smile.

“Ah... _ah!_ Ah ha _ha!_ ” Striding back into the living room, he planted himself in front of the couch and shook his finger at the wolf. “I see how it is. You almost fooled me, man, but you are weak—weak!— against the Stanley Cup playoffs.”

She had no idea what he was talking about. “Hardison...?”

“Now, it could be— _could be_ —that I’m mistaken, in which case I’m gonna feel really stupid for talking to an animal like this, but I don’t think so. And you wanna know why?” He pointed to a bowl on the floor next to the couch. “Because there is _beer_ in this here dog bowl. And dogs—and wolves neither—don’t drink _beer. Eliot._ ”

“What?” What was he even talking about? Why was he...how could the wolf be...oh.

_Oh._

“Eliot’s a _werewolf_?” Suddenly a number of things made more sense. And were much cooler! “Awesome!”

“How did it happen, man? Were you born this way, or did you get bit? Wait, you can’t talk. Or can you? Can you shift back? Or are you, like, stuck until morning?”

As the words spilled out of Hardison, the wolf got more and more pissed-off looking, and now that she’d been clued in, it was really totally obvious that he was Eliot. Grumbling, he climbed off the couch and stalked to the front door, where he stopped, staring at them.

“What’s the matter, you gotta go walkies?” Hardison asked, trailing after him with a grin. “Bet you’re missing your thumbs right now, huh?” He opened the door, but Eliot just stood there, unmoving. “What, are you going out or not?” Eliot glanced outside, then shifted his gaze back to Hardison, who lasted about two seconds before his patience slipped and he started fidgeting. “In or out, man, come on.” Turning his head with exaggerated emphasis, Eliot looked from Hardison to the outdoors and back, and after a moment understanding lit Hardison’s face. “Nope, not leavin’,” he declared smirkily. “Not until we get the whole story out of you.”

“ _Hrrf!_ ” Eliot snapped, scowling. Abandoning his stance, he marched back through the house and into the bedroom, where he shoved at the door with a one-two combination of nose and paw, banging it shut in their faces as they tried to follow him.

“Eliot?” Hardison called hesitantly, and a very loud growl rumbled through the wood panel. He looked at Parker, and she shook her head, then shrugged. The door wasn’t locked, so if Hardison wanted to come face-to-face with an angry Eliot-wolf, he could do it himself. “Okay...okay,” he said, trying to recapture some of his cool. “We’ll just be out here. Whenever you’re ready. No rush.”

And that was that. Now they just had to entertain themselves for however long it took for Eliot to change back.

“Movie time!” Parker sang out as she whirled and bounded back toward the living room, leaving Hardison behind. “Dibs on the remote!”

“Hardison! Wake up! Food!”

It took Alec a minute or so to orient himself. He was on a couch...Eliot’s couch...with no Parker draped over him (though it had been her yelling that woken him up) and a powerful smell of breakfast in the air. Once he managed to achieve verticality, he shambled to the powder room ( _“It’s a half bath!” “Sure, E, whatever makes you feel more manly.”_ ), then meandered into the kitchen, squinting against the too-bright golden morning light. Parker was sitting at the island, already hoovering up a plate of eggs and sausage. At the place next to her, a mug was sitting, which Alec knew from happy experience would hold coffee doctored to exactly his taste, containing what Eliot termed a ridiculous amount of milk and sugar. He claimed it gratefully.

As he sipped, he studied the man himself. Eliot looked...completely normal. (By which he meant _good_. Yeah. Among other things, like, you know, being human again.) The sleeves of his button-down were rolled, displaying his forearms; the light caught his hair, falling loose and slightly mussed; and his expression, when he glanced at Alec, was guarded but not angry. All signs were go, so when Eliot set a full plate down in front of him, Alec had no compunctions at all about jumping right into things. “Okay, talk to us,” he said, picking up his fork. “Let’s hear the story.”

Eliot sighed, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms. “It comes down through my mama’s line,” he said. “I didn’t find out about it until my late teens, and there wasn’t a whole lot she could tell me, ’cause she didn’t know all that much about it herself. But she was able to teach me a few things before she passed.”

Alec hadn’t known Eliot’s mother was dead. His mouth was full, so he tried to indicate his condolences with his eyes. Eliot returned his gaze briefly, acknowledging the sympathy for maybe a second before looking away. Alec didn’t take it personally—the guy was just emotionally constipated like that. He was getting better about it, though. Tiny steps. Tiny steps.

“That’s it, man,” Eliot concluded. “That’s all. There ain’t no story.”

“I thought werewolves transformed at the full moon. The moon wasn’t full last night,” Parker said.

“Yeah, how’s that work?” Alec chimed in. He hadn’t noticed the moon’s phase, but maybe awareness of that was a thief thing, a hiding-in-shadows thing, one of the many little quirks that Parker didn’t even realize she had.

“The urge is there, but I don’t _have_ to. It kind of...builds up, though, if I don’t.” Eliot made a small clench-and-release gesture. “So when there’s a break between jobs, I like to take a little wolf time.”

Wolf time. That was awesome. And also ridiculous. Alec grinned. “So, what, you lay around the house and watch TV? What about being a creature of the night, running wild in the woods, all of that?”

Eliot scowled, his face scrunching. “It’s not that I never do that, I do that too, it’s just....”

“Playoff season,” Alec kindly finished for him. And also the fact that inside the dangerous, terrifyingly competent hitman-turned-hitter there was a domestic homebody crying to be let out. He’d respect the man’s pride, though, and not bring that up.

With a huff, Eliot kicked back against the counter again, irritation giving way to reluctant amusement. “I’d say I’m surprised at how y’all are acting like me being a werewolf is perfectly fine and normal, but neither one of you would know normal if it came up and bit you in the ass.”

Parker shrugged. “How we are is normal for us. So, you being a werewolf is normal for you. Just because we didn’t know about it until now doesn’t change anything about you.” Eliot stared at her, then exchanged a look with Alec, but the logic was flawless.

“What about the wrist cuff?” Parker asked then, and Eliot went stone still, his face stoic but his eyes flicker-bright with tension. It was a familiar look, and not one with good memories attached to it.

“There’s a curse on me,” he said at last, hoarsely. “Not the wolf, that’s, that’s _natural_. But this.... You know the thing? That I did for Moreau?” Alec and Parker nodded in horrified unison. “It’s related to that. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

Holding up his arm, he showed off the cuff, a simple black leather thing with some kind of pattern impressed on it. “If this ever comes off, I turn into a monster. A _real_ monster. So if that ever happens, you _get away_. You won’t be able to outrun me, so _drive_ , or get as heavy a locked door between us as you can. And pray to God I’m distracted.” Alec’s eyes widened. Eliot _never_ called on God—whether he was angry or just disbelieving, Alec didn’t know. “I mean it,” Eliot added, as if there could be any doubt. Not with the taut way he was holding himself, the ragged strain in his voice. “All of it. However you can, just _get away_.”

Parker gave another tiny nod, eyes wide. Turning away from them, Eliot picked up a fork, stabbed a sausage link up off his own plate, and ate it with unwarranted savagery.

They finished breakfast in thoughtful, somewhat daunted quiet. Then, when Eliot had collected the empty plates and put them in the sink, he faced the two of them once more. He seemed calm again—Eliot-calm, at least, which meant collected and watchful. “So,” he said, “what’s all this about a plan?”

Alec froze, then darted a glance at Parker, who also looked startled. Caught. Eliot smirked and tapped his ear. “Wolf hearing. I got both sides of that conversation last night.”

“Um.” Alec looked to Parker again, pleading, because while he was all in on the concept of trying to take their relationship with Eliot to some other level—and anywhere on the continuum of cuddling to soft and sweet romance to dragging that hot piece of ass into bed with them was okay as far as he was concerned—she was the one who’d taken the initiative to actually set things into motion.

“Gourmet pretzels,” she muttered, darting a look at him in turn as she handed the conversational ball back. Because feelings.

“You need to use real words, not secret codes,” Eliot told them, with a surprising lack of heat. “I've got no idea what you’re talking about here.”

Something in his attitude suggested that he _did_ in fact have some idea and was waiting for them to confirm it, so Alec gathered his courage and girded his metaphorical loins. “We, uh—”

“We like you!” Parker blurted. “I mean, like... _like_ -like.” She was frozen in the kind of panic that once would’ve made Alec relieved that all the silverware had been cleared away, but she eased up some when Eliot just waited, giving her space to find and frame her emotions. “And I’ve seen how you look at us. How you watch us when you think we aren’t paying attention. So...um. Do you want to be part of us? As _us_?”

Good girl, _brave_ girl. He smiled at her in love and pride, then turned his attention back to Eliot, his stomach all butterflies with eager, nervous anticipation.

Eliot dragged a hand down his face, then looked away out the window. “This kind of thing can get messy,” he murmured from behind his palm, real soft.

That wasn’t a no.

“Me and Parker make it work,” Alec said gently. “I figure the three of us can make it work too.”

“You made a promise, but we never did,” Parker said. Her fingers drummed restlessly on the counter top, closed into a fist and opened, like she didn’t know what to do with them, with this lock she couldn’t pick. Alec curled his hand over hers, offering, and she took it like a lifeline. “We want to be with you,” she told Eliot, her eyes wide and guileless, fearful yet hopeful too, “for as long as we _all_ live.”

Silence. And then, after a moment, he came to them, crossing that small distance between the counters. Placed his hand on Parker’s free one and let her grip it tight. The quirk of his smile was rueful, but his eyes were warm. “Never could say no to you two,” he murmured.

“You’ve said no to us lots of times,” Alec disagreed, half from the habit of being contrary and half because it was true.

“Not about these things.” Eliot’s eyes held Parker’s, but Alec felt wrapped in his attention too. “Not when it’s following where you lead.”

Parker stood up off her stool. As she leaned across the island, Eliot flicked a glance Alec’s way. He must’ve read the confirmation Alec was trying to telepathically beam in his direction, because he bent to meet her. The kiss was nothing like her first assault on Alec’s mouth had been, it was tentative rather than fiercely dramatic—but God, so tender. For all that Eliot usually followed, here he led, but delicately, guiding the pace and pressure as their lips shifted against each other’s in an unhurried exploration, parting at last on a lingering breath. As Parker sank back, she smiled, all tension gone.

“Now you two,” she directed.

Uh.

Not that he was averse to the idea— _at all_. But.

Okay...so, once upon a time he’d been exactly that kind of stereotypical teenage virgin nerd that assholes always liked to make fun of. But coming into a shitload of money at an early age—well, let’s just say that it allowed one to buy quite an Experience. But he’d figured out pretty quick—basically right off, almost as soon as the first afterglow had faded—that he wasn’t into the whole sex deal if it was just transactional, if there wasn’t an actual emotional connection. He was a romantic, okay? And also, at the time, hella awkward, which meant that his dating life had been pretty much nonexistent.

In short, Parker was his first actual grown-up anything, and nothing he’d _ever_ done had involved a man in any way, shape, or form. (He might have had a tiny bisexual-awakening identity crisis upon realizing that he actually found certain guys—and their hitter in particular—not just objectively hot but _hot inside my pants_ hot, but that was neither here nor there). Plus this was _Eliot_ , for God’s sake—Eliot had had like a thousand partners, and did he even like guys like that? Maybe he was just into Parker and Alec was along for the ride and this was going to be a weird, awkward, third-wheeling disaster, and oh shit, while he’d been spiraling Eliot had moved closer, was _right there_ looking at him with a dubious expression. And then, then they were doing the thing...maybe...as they hesitated toward each other, and all of a sudden it was _how do kiss?_ because it seemed like neither one of them could figure out which way to angle their faces for the approach. They started and stopped and started again, and it was _exactly_ as awkward as he’d been dreading.

At last Eliot huffed a soft, almost-laugh, which made Alec’s pulse jump with alarm before the affection in the sound actually registered with him. Curling a strong hand around the back of Alec’s head, Eliot drew him in, down, touched his lips to Alec’s forehead and rested them there. They were warm, somehow softer than he’d expected, a little spit-damp, probably from Parker’s mouth, and finally he relaxed, sinking with relief into the familiar ease of his feelings for Eliot, and the trust that, no matter what, Eliot would take care of them.

And as Eliot leaned back, Alec took up his other hand, raised it to his own smiling lips and kissed the man’s knuckles, his eyes fixed unfalteringly on Eliot’s, reflecting that slow sweetness back to him.

Because they’d take care of him, too.

Eliot’s face had gone a little pink by the time Alec released him, and Alec added that to his fledgling list of Reasons Not to Be Intimidated When Romancing Eliot Spencer.

“Hm. Needs some work,” Parker announced, and they both looked at her, startled out of the moment. “More like this!” Grabbing Alec, she spun his stool toward her, and then he had a face full of Parker, kissing him, wild and exuberant and crackling with passion, and apparently perfect joy felt like those floating lanterns from _Tangled_ soaring up into the sky somewhere inside his chest and tasted like homemade artisanal maple-sage breakfast sausage. Who knew.

When they parted at last, his every nerve was singing with delight in his girl, and with the thrill of kissing with intent in front of Eliot. Parker raised her eyebrows at Eliot, and Alec slanted a glance his way as well, half proud, half shy. Eliot was leaning on the counter, watching them, his mouth curving in a slight smile; his eyes glinted with laughter, but there was heat there as well.

“Ain’t sure I got all that,” he drawled. “Better show it to me again.”

And the two of them were more than happy to oblige.

When disaster hit, on a job some few weeks later, Alec never saw how it actually went down. One moment he was waiting for Parker to make it back up from the basement file room while Eliot was off doing his thing, keeping the opposition’s heavies from interrupting—and the next, horrific noises were screaming and roaring and crashing through his earbud, so loud and awful that he had to yank it out, his heart hammering with shock. He could still hear the sounds in the distance, coming from somewhere near Eliot’s last known position, and maybe he should’ve guessed the situation then and _not_ run right toward it, but as things turned out, it wasn’t until he whipped around a final corner and was several strides into the open-space office beyond that he slammed headlong into the realization of exactly what was in front of him and stumbled to a trembling halt.

Down and across the long room, a large shape shifted against the night-dark windows. It reared up slow, but when it shook its head, the movement was a snap of violence, and something in its jaws ripped, something...that used to be... _oh God_.

The thing chewed, swallowed, and then turned toward him.

Its face was vaguely wolflike, which was the only visible clue to its identity. Hairless except for a thin crest along its back, its dead-black skin seemed drawn so tight that every curve of muscle and jut of bone stood out stark, and it was _all_ muscle and bone, too-long limbs that would look sticklike if they weren’t also corded like steel cables, a gaunt, angular body and naked, whiplike tail—basically, it was a semi-anthropoid werewolf à la H. R. Giger, and Eliot had _not_ been fucking around when he’d used the word _monster_.

_Holy—_

_—holy—_

_—SHIT._

Moving on all fours, it came spidering toward him over the desks, clearly in no hurry— _you won’t be able to outrun me_ , Eliot had said—its movements fluid but somehow _wrong,_ like all its joints had been dislocated at some point in time and never quite put right. Curving, knifelike claws tick-ticked on the desktops and scraped over the partitions; especially in the low light, its dark skin hid any bloodstains, but Alec could see gore dripping from its jaws. White-filmed eyes looked like they were cataract-blind, but they were fixed on him, unwavering, freezing him with their blank, feral intensity. As if he hadn’t already been paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of getting away.

And as he stood there watching certain death approaching, knowing there was no chance of escape, no hope of rescue ( _stay away, Parker, just—God—stay away_ ), it was like...he went somewhere outside of himself. He knew he should be screaming and crying and maybe fainting in sheer terror, and on some other level of sanity his brain was silently doing exactly that, but it was all very distant. His body was _there_ , around him but not entirely part of him, and his fear was over _there_ , and he was just a still point of awareness floating in a reality that was at once dream-remote and hyperclear.

( _Oh hey, disassociation, how you doin’, some other lunatic corner of his mind was chuckling, like the whole situation was funny._ )

( _Maybe it was, and he’d laugh about it later._ )

( _Laughing seemed like something he might do if he survived._ )

Refocusing, he noted that the monster was looming above him, just about within reach.

“Eliot,” he said. Because why not. It was something to try.

It—he—the creature, the monster—paused. 

“ _Eliot_.”

Somewhere his heart was trying to thunder its way right out his chest. That was less important than the quiet. The improbable calm in the heart of the storm, as the seconds went by and he wasn’t dead yet.

The monster tilted its head, white eyes unblinking. Its lips drew up, vibrating with the growl that boomed from its throat; they bared fangs thicker than Alec’s fingers. It leaned forward, its head drawing closer, nostrils flaring as it scented him.

As if moving in slow motion, Alec raised his hand. Reached forward, pushing through the weighted stillness, his eyes never leaving the monster’s.

 _I am not your prey._ It seemed like an important thought to have.

And when he rested his hand on the bridge of its muzzle, its head dipped under his touch, that growl fluttering toward quiet.

“Eliot,” he breathed, and the monster’s eyes closed.

And Parker slid in out of nowhere to clasp the cuff around its wrist.

The monster jerked back with a roar that bit off into choked, too-human cry. It reared up, convulsed, and then collapsed, folded into itself, _shifted_ , a confusion of writhing, reality-bending motion that ended with Eliot, their Eliot, _human_ Eliot, crumpling and toppling forward right off the desk. Alec barely got under him in time to break the fall. And then he found himself sprawled out on the floor with his arms full of stark naked, blood-drenched Eliot. Eliot shuddered repeatedly, his breathing coming in thin, high-pitched gasps, his whole body jerking as he tried to curl in on himself, his arms clutched tight to his chest, and Alec had no idea what was going on. Every trace of surreal calm had blown apart in a splintering explosion of delayed adrenaline hitting his system. Was Eliot seizing? Was he dying? The room wavered out of focus for a moment, and Alec swallowed hard and breathed deep, trying to get a hold of himself.

No passing out allowed. _Later_. Later he could pass out, freak out, have a complete nervous breakdown, whatever, but not now.

Right now, his guy _needed_ him.

“Eliot!” Parker dropped to kneel down next to them, and with her help, Alec was able to flail his way to a sitting position, finishing with Eliot in his lap, leaned up against his chest. Eliot’s skin was pale and clammy, his pupils dilated; his gaze jerked and flittered from place to place, as if it couldn’t settle.

“I think he’s going into shock,” Alec said—at least he _looked_ like what Alec would imagine a person going into shock would look like, it was a thing people on TV said all the time, and the circumstances made it seem as likely as anything. He couldn’t get to his phone to look up first aid, but the thing that immediately occurred to him was: _warm_. “Here—hold him.” He shifted Eliot’s weight over to Parker so he could wrestle with his coat. Eliot tensed, starting to struggle.

“Shh, baby, shh,” Parker whispered, petting his hair. Parker was usually not at all a “baby” kind of person, but these were extraordinary circumstances, and Eliot did actually subside, sinking back down against them. “We’ve got you.”

“We got you, man,” Alec echoed. As he wrapped Eliot up in his coat, he let himself indulge in a moment of petting as well. Whether from the comforting or the steady physical contact or because he was no longer bare-ass naked and had regained some human dignity, Eliot seemed to come back to himself. His body relaxed, and awareness returned to his eyes as the frantic panic ebbed.

“We need to get out of here,” Parker said, quiet but all laser-etched, steel-edged business, and no one who didn’t know her well would ever realize just how shook she was. “Can you walk?” In answer, Eliot started trying to get his feet under himself, although it took all three of them to haul him fully upright. Parker left him to Alec’s support as she took point, both leading the way and watching out for danger, letting Alec concentrate on guiding Eliot’s stumbling steps.

They were about halfway down the stairwell when Eliot started to heave. Alec very carefully did not look at what he vomited into a corner.

Eliot threw up twice more before they made it to the parking garage, though the last time was little more than red-tinged bile. Straightening from where he’d bent over, leaning on the wall—he could just about stand on his own by then—he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Hey, not the coat, man,” Alec murmured, though he was going to have to burn it anyway, considering all the blood. Though clearly exhausted, Eliot gave him an annoyed look, a blessed trace of normalcy.

Parker had gone ahead at the end, and now she pulled up to the stairwell entrance in a dark blue sedan. Alec hustled Eliot into the back seat, and with barely a thought folded himself in as well, keeping his arm around Eliot. “ _Parker_ ,” he said; she’d been watching them in the rearview mirror, but now she turned fully to look at them. “ _Gently._ ” She nodded, and, to her credit, took them out and onto the streets like an actual normal-person driver.

They were silent as they drove—Eliot seemed to have faded out on Alec’s shoulder, which was a blessing, and Alec didn’t want to disturb it, but the quiet was wearing on him. They were more or less safe, which meant that his emergency survival energy was running down, leaving him jittery and empty and kind of wanting to cry. Usually he worked it off by talking; not being able to was _hard_ , and he was exercising all his willpower to keep his mouth shut. He was succeeding, too, until Parker suddenly turned the car into a big-box store complex. “Wait, what are you doing?” he said.

“We need stuff.” It was late enough that the lot was mostly empty, with all the cars concentrated near the twenty-four-hour Target; she parked them in as inconspicuous a spot as she could, snapped, “Stay here!” and slithered out of the car like the police were chasing her.

“Like we're going anywhere,” Alec muttered. He watched her jog toward the building, ponytail bouncing.

Eliot had stirred when they stopped; now he lifted his head and squinted around. “Where are we?” he rasped.

“Shopping break, apparently.” He studied Eliot’s face, tracing his tired expression, one that looked a little too much like defeat. “How you doing?”

Eliot replied with a monosyllabic grunt, which was reassuringly typical, if also annoying, because Alec wanted information. Was he actually okay? What did he need? Apparently what he needed was to move, because he squirmed under Alec’s arm. Alec relaxed it, letting Eliot sit up some more, then wrapped him up again, keeping him tucked close against his side. Eliot didn’t resist, just sighed, and that alone said so much.

Alec glanced away to see if Parker was returning yet—she wasn’t—and then back to see Eliot staring at the cuff on his wrist, standing out dark against his skin. Alec put his hand on it, and Eliot went rigid. “ ’S okay, man,” Alec murmured. “We’re all safe. You didn’t.”

“You saw,” Eliot said, equally quiet.

Alec’s heart twinged in him, because...yeah. “How much do you remember when you...?”

“Everything, pretty much. Like it’s through a filter.” Eliot swallowed tightly, then made a face.

What to say? Wasn’t like he could say _they deserved it_ —maybe if they’d been some of Moreau’s guys, or the Butcher of Kiev or someone like that, but these had just been a bunch of garden-variety security-suited thugs who had in no way been prepared for an encounter with Eliot Spencer, let alone a creature out of nightmares. In lieu of words, he rested his cheek against a less filthy part of Eliot’s hair and didn’t let the man pull away. Not that he tried too hard.

Eliot never seemed to believe that he could be forgiven, but some part deep down inside of him wanted it so very badly.

They were sitting like that when Parker reappeared—it was quick enough that she must have skipped the checkout line, which was especially impressive when the first thing she shoved into the back seat was a big, fluffy blanket. Yes, blanket—yes, good. The second thing was a bottle of water pushed into his hand, followed by a fetching purple unicorn backpack full of other stuff dropped into his lap, before Parker slammed the door and hurried around to the driver’s side. Alec opened the water and handed it off to Eliot, then set about getting the blanket arranged.

“Wait,” Eliot said as Parker started the car. Opening the far door, he leaned out, rinsed his mouth and spat a few times. Settling back at last, he gave Parker a nod, and she got them out onto the road again.

As soon as Alec had Eliot and himself situated comfortably under the blanket, he started investigating the contents of the backpack. There were a couple more bottles of water—and one of soda, thank God. He appropriated that for himself, of course. And when he came across the bag of gummi frogs, his love for Parker elevated itself to new heights. “Oh, baby, you’re the _best_ ,” he told her, adding to Eliot, “Hey, man, we should get some carbs into you.”

“I ain’t eating those things.” Eliot had already sucked down most of his water; it had obviously refreshed him enough that he had the energy to be cranky.

“I got cookies too,” Parker said. She glanced up into the rearview mirror and must have caught Eliot’s expression, because she added defensively, “They’re _fancy_ cookies.”

Alec and Eliot shared a glance, and then Alec dug into the pack and unearthed what turned out to be a Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Decadent Cookies collection. He displayed it to Eliot, who made no comment, but resignedly took a cookie when Alec offered the opened box. He snagged one as well, because who doesn’t love a Milano?

What else was in the bag? Washcloths. Excellent. Pouring some water onto one, he twisted around and started wiping at Eliot’s face.

“What’re you— _no!_ Dammit, would you—would you _give me that! Ugh!_ ” With a frustrated snarl, Eliot finally wrestled the cloth out of Alec’s hand. “I can wash my own goddamn face!” And he proved it, scrubbing with more violence than strictly necessary.

“Sorry, man, sorry.” Alec sat back, hands raised briefly in surrender. Okay, too much. He got it. He should dial things back, and that was fine. It was cool. Giving Eliot a little more personal space, he turned to face front, and got his phone out almost as an afterthought, because any potential police chatter regarding the night’s carnage sure wasn’t going to monitor itself.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Eliot drop the crumpled cloth onto his lap. A beat passed; then Eliot gave a rusty, grumbling sigh. Shifting position, he tilted over until his shoulder nudged into Alec’s again.

“Gimme another cookie,” he muttered.

When Parker pulled up behind their apartment, Eliot stirred. “This is your place,” he said, sounding both half asleep and wary. “What’re we doing here?”

Oh. Should she have taken him back to his own house? She could understand why he’d want that—his own space around him, where he’d feel safest as he rested and recovered. But she hadn’t even thought of it—because this was where _she’d_ felt that he’d be safest, with her and Hardison to watch over and take care of him.

“Sorry, man,” Hardison said, which made her feel better, because he’d obviously made the same assumption. Then again, Hardison didn’t have the instincts they did; he wouldn’t understand it right down at the level of nerve crawl and muscle twitch, that need to go to ground in a secure space. “You want we should take you home instead?”

“Eliot,” she said, before he could answer. Her fingers curled around the steering wheel, tracing its textures, as she looked up into the mirror to watch his face. “You know that _our_ place is _your_ place. Right?”

This could be home. Should be home. The way they all were home for each other.

If he wanted to go to his house, she’d take them there. Of course. But there was _no way_ she was going to leave him there all by himself. Her heart hurt just at the thought of it.

And he probably knew, too, that there was no getting away from them. “Whatever,” he said at last. His face was neutral-frowny—not mad, or even mildly annoyed, just subdued and low energy. He needed more cookies. “We’re here now.” He dragged himself and the blanket away from Hardison and out of the car.

As Hardison took charge of escorting Eliot upstairs, she drove off to ditch their ride. She ended up leaving it a lot closer than she would’ve preferred, but there was nothing to point anyone back to them in particular, so she judged it an acceptable risk. By the time she’d jogged the six blocks back and gone up the side of the building and in through the living room window, Hardison had Eliot in the bathroom. She could hear the whoosh of the shower being turned on. “Okay, let’s get some hot, steamy goodness going on in here,” Hardison was saying.

The door had been pushed almost to but not actually shut. Opening it, she slipped inside. Eliot was sitting on the closed toilet, naked, his head in his hands, fingers threaded into his hair. Physically he looked all right, just regular, normal Eliot, not even significantly injured, but she felt a sudden, imperative need to be sure. Stepping forward, she took hold of his upper arm and squeezed—and he was uncoiling, half rising, his arm circling with flashing speed to break her grip and grab her instead, his fist knotting in her shirt, to pull her in or slam her back, she wasn’t sure, and then Hardison had _his_ arm in between them, his shoulder partly blocking her and his other hand planted on Eliot’s chest. A couple of seconds, a confusion of push-and-pull grappling, before Eliot faltered and they all staggered to a stop, still entwined with each other. Her heartbeat was rattling her thoughts, making her head buzz; the air was fogged and heavy from the shower. Blankly she stared into Eliot’s face; he blinked, then let her go and quickly sat down again, glancing away like he was ashamed. He looked as jangled as she felt.

“Whoa, _whoa!_ ” Hardison gulped, then took a shuddery breath. “Okay. Three people’s too much in here.” His eyes stayed focused on Eliot, but his hand brushed her shoulder: an are-you-okay check-in, an apology, a plea. “Mama, could you go and find Eliot something to wear?”

She nodded and retreated. It stung a little to be left out, but Hardison was right, three was too many, and she was the one who’d messed up. It was so rare that she could surprise Eliot, she’d forgotten it was possible.

Seeing Eliot shaken like that was bad and wrong. He was always, _always_ strong for them, scarred inside and out but never broken, not the way she felt sometimes. He was steady as gravity.

Hardison fixed things—and situations—and people. She didn’t know if he could fix this, but she was more than glad to be able to leave it to him.

She dug around in the bedroom and found a clean pair of Hardison’s sweatpants and an old, soft tee-shirt that smelled like him—in the nice way, not the fear-sweat way or the six-hours-in-Lucille way. Burying her face in it and breathing in, she wondered if after Eliot wore it would smell like both of them. She’d definitely have to steal it then.

The bathroom door opened, releasing the rain-rushing hiss of the shower for a moment before Hardison stepped out and closed it behind himself. Immediately his eyes sought hers, and he crossed straight over to her, folded her close in his arms as if someone had just escaped death—which, technically, someone had, maybe, probably, although it had been a while ago at this point. Delayed stress reaction. That made sense, and she hugged him back, tight, tight.

He’d been so brave, standing there in front of the wolf monster. So incredibly brave. If it had been her, she would’ve run, and then they wouldn’t all be here like this.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. For what—oh.

“It’s fine. You were right.” Reminded that she was still holding the clothes, she squeezed Hardison again, then wriggled free and went to the bathroom door. Should she knock? She considered Eliot’s burst of instinctive violence and decided to be safe. She tapped, called “Eliot?” then opened the door to a face full of steam. “I got your clothes. I’m leaving them here.”

“Okay.” Glancing over, she tried to read the lines of his back and shoulders. They seemed looser, from the heat and the water’s massage, from the quiet space, from exhaustion—she wasn’t sure, but in any case the relaxation was good for him.

His butt was less informative, but it was nice to look at, so she gave it a once-over with her eyes too before leaving him to finish his shower.

By the time Eliot came out of the bathroom—his face flushed, his hair damp and curling, Hardison’s too-long sweats rumpled up around his ankles—she and Hardison had both changed into their own night clothes and put new sheets on the bed, with the covers turned down invitingly. Pausing, Eliot stared at it, then turned away. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he mumbled.

“Nuh-uh!” Hardison hustled around the end of the bed to intercept him. “You get into that bed right now, mister.”

“Do you really gotta baby me like this?” Eliot said, but the complaininess was mild, barely even a grumble, and he went. Eliot knew people better than she did, and even she could tell that this was as much for Hardison as for him, if not more.

“This ain’t _babying_ ,” Hardison protested. “This is, this is posttraumatic recovery care, okay. And just so you know, I do draw the line at diapering your ass.”

“Yeah, I’d break both your arms if you tried.” Eliot’s eyes were laughing at them, even as he snapped, “Go brush your teeth—both of you. I ain’t waking up to your morning breath.”

She and Hardison raced to finish brushing—she won and bounced onto the bed while he was still rinsing and spitting. Eliot had taken the window side, which was wrong on two counts: first, it was _her_ side of the bed, and second, he was supposed to be in the middle. She jabbed at him until he made enough room that she could squirm under the covers and then squeeze him farther over. He lay there awkwardly on his back, hands folded on his stomach, as Hardison slid in on the other side.

“Majel, lights out,” Hardison said, and the room dimmed until the only light was filtering in through the blinds.

Eliot fidgeted as Hardison snuggled up close, draping an arm across him—which, to be honest, was the other reason, aside from the need to have Eliot safe, that Parker had wanted him in the middle, because Hardison could be aggressively cuddly in his sleep, and tonight was likely to be one of those nights. It wasn’t always a bad thing, of course—sometimes she liked it—and if it ever got to be too much, a good old nipple twist took care of the situation quickly. She wondered if she should tell Eliot about that. Well, he could probably come up with his own solution.

Eliot ended up rolling onto his side, facing her, letting Hardison embrace him from behind. He exhaled, low and shuddery, as if deliberately breathing out tension until it was all gone and the only thing left was emptiness. She could relate.

“Sorry,” he murmured after a while. She’d been right at the edge of falling asleep, but his voice tugged her back. “That you...I didn’t want you to have to see.”

“Not gonna lie,” Hardison said, equally quiet, “I coulda lived without seeing all that blood and guts and stuff. But hey. It’s okay, man.”

“It’s not okay!” Eliot’s words went crackly, edged and brittle like broken glass. “I could’ve—”

“But you didn’t!” she interrupted—too loud for the dark and the hush and the closeness, so she lowered her voice and whispered, “You _wouldn’t_.”

“Tell me, E,” Hardison added, into Eliot’s stubbornly resistant silence, “before tonight, did you ever take on that form around somebody that you loved?”

Eliot’s eyes glimmered, the trace of light catching in them as they widened. Surprise, first, then realization, and then a deepening _something_ that she didn’t know how to name but that her stuttering heart knew was precious—a last lock opening onto a strange, soft place. Reaching out without thought, she laid her palm against his cheek. He glanced up, meeting her gaze, and then he smiled. Not his mark-charming smile, or his sly, wry grin, or even his tolerant, sometimes amused affection. It was…a _younger_ smile. He rested his hand on hers and let it linger, warm and gentle, until she was ready to reclaim her fingers; and even then, they ended up with their hands curled in the space between them, not quite touching, but within easy reach.

And when Hardison woke up screaming a couple of hours later, Eliot rolled over to pull him in, to hold him tight and mutter reassurances, while she spooned up against Eliot’s back, her arm stretched out across them both and their feet and legs all tangled up together, until Hardison could breathe normally again, until the last of the terror had seeped out of him, and he slept.

Softness could still be strong. Hardison had taught her that. And now Eliot.

So that night—and always—the three of them would be strong _and_ soft for each other.

It wasn’t until a few days later, when things had settled back into something that Alec felt comfortable calling normal (for their own unique definition of normal, of course), that he thought to ask, in a Netflix series binge-watch lull, “So, hey—you’ve got the wolf form and the curse form, right? Do you have just, like, a regular two-legged wolfman? Like in _The Howling_ or, or _Underworld_.”

“Sure,” Eliot said, shrugging. _Sure_ , like Alec was expected to know which of the many tropes was supposed to apply in his case. He tipped back the last of his beer, then let the bottle dangle from his fingertips, too settled in his comfortable couch sprawl to get up and pitch it just yet. “I don’t ever use it, though.”

“Why not?” Alec wondered. “I bet it’s pretty dang cool.”

“It’s a form made for fighting, man. And I don’t fight humans as the wolf. It leads to...bad things.” His mouth drew tight, his eyes darkening briefly before he shook off whatever unpleasant memory he had no intention of ever telling them about. “So it ain’t good for nothing,” he finished instead.

“I wanna see it!” Parker had manifested from somewhere and hopped up to sit on the back of the couch, grinning down at them. Eliot looked from her to Alec, then sighed.

“Okay, fine.” Standing up, he pushed the coffee table well out of the way, creating a large open space, then stripped his shirt up and off.

“Whoo!” Parker cheered, dropping onto the seat next to Alec, and Eliot paused, his brows rising.

“What, was this just an excuse for a show?” He didn’t look all that unhappy about it, though.

“Any excuse for a show,” Alec said, smirking. “But nah, man, we really want to see it.”

Snorting, Eliot shucked off the rest of his clothes, tossed them on a chair, then crouched down, bracing one hand on the floor. Alec had a split-second realization that he’d never seen Eliot change _into_ any of his forms and to wonder if it was going to be as terrifying as the shift out of his monster form before Eliot curled in on himself with a punched-out grunt and then...it wasn’t that bad, really. It was fast and smooth as he— _unfurled_ , furred out, _grew_ , all in one rippling flow until he’d stabilized in his new shape. Rising, he shook back his mane and stared down at them.

Alec couldn’t help but whistle. “ _Damn_ , boy,” he breathed, awestruck. “You are _huge._ ”

Eliot was standing hunkered forward a little, but even so he was taller than Alec. At full height, he’d be...eight feet? Nine? _Jesus_. The monster form had probably been just as tall, but it had never really stood up on two legs, and it had been rail thin. This form was _solid_ , and even though the thick fur blurred the definition of Eliot’s muscles, they were still plenty obvious. He had guns that put Eliot’s human biceps to shame; his shoulders and chest were massive, and the thighs on his digitigrade legs looked like they could kick down a solid-steel security door. He was a furry _tank_.

His eyes were still Eliot blue, though, and there was uncertainty in them, a wordless question.

While Alec was still ogling, Parker had sprung up and started circling Eliot, grinning hugely as she petted and prodded at him. He turned to growl at her once, when she tugged on his tail with a little too much enthusiasm, a deep, menacing rumble, but after the first pulse-flutter of an atavistic fear, Alec found that he was able to breathe deep and say to himself, with full and genuine conviction, that no, this was still Eliot, _their_ Eliot, and not at all a danger—not to them. Never to them. It wasn’t all that different from a normal Eliot growl, anyway, just louder and weightier. (And higher up. Much, _much_ higher up.)

Having completed her circuit, Parker suddenly leaped onto Eliot, scaled him like a tree, and clung to his neck, humming in sheer ecstasy. She looked like she was snuggling with her favorite pile of money. Eliot gave her a slightly incredulous side eye, then grunted in resignation.

“Aw, yeah!” Alec crowed, delighted. “Gotta get me a piece of that!” Hurrying to join them, he threw his arms around as much of Eliot as he could and nuzzled his cheek into what turned out to be a surprisingly soft chest ruff. “Mmm, mmm. Now this, man— _this_ —is what this form is good for.”

“ _Urrgh_ ,” Eliot grumbled, but those powerful arms came carefully around them and held them close.

**Author's Note:**

> [Eliot's wolf coloring](https://web.500px.com/photo/9003562/The-Staredown-by-Scott-Denny/)


End file.
